


Soteria

by Luminous_Force



Series: Soteria [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Dungeons & Dragons Campaign, Fantasy, High Fantasy, Other, Revenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2020-08-13 08:42:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luminous_Force/pseuds/Luminous_Force
Summary: In the beginning, people coexisted with Angels, the right hands to the Nine Celestial gods. However, Angels got greedy, and the Celestial gods stopped answering mankind.While Angels are rumored to still be in hiding, existing among the people, they aren't the ones to be feared. As our young heroine, Bryn Nikostratos, knows well, the crown's sacred guard- The Winged Blades- are a bigger threat.Follow us on our unfolding journey as Bryn claws her way through a story of Revenge against a dangerous enemy, and her attempt prevent a new war sparked in the Celestial's name.





	1. New Beginnings...

**Author's Note:**

> No update schedule set yet. Campaign is a year going so far, and still in progress!

For most people, a trip to the market is a relatively painless task.  
Sure, sometimes fate is cruel. Remembering your worst days at the market you can recall a kicking and screaming infant, or the spell component you needed had been out of stock. It was a bother, but nevertheless painless.  
Bryn Nikostratos is not most people. However egotistical that may seem- however egotistical _she _may seem- Bryn has a secret so deep and dark, it could turn the pleasant streets of the local marketplace into a bloody standoff in a split second.

“Thank you,” the shaky old man paused, trying not to stare at her for too long. He wasn’t finding what he was looking for in Bryn’s short silver hair peeking out of the dark hood. The answer he was seeking also didn’t linger in Bryn’s dark garb. The understandable moment passed, and he was now lingering in the zone of rude.  
“...Sir.” he finally decided, tearing his gaze upward and giving his best customer service smile. Bryn cocked a grin and nodded as thanks in return, keeping the body language in line with the old man's guess. She didn’t mind the jump in gender assumptions, it helped hide the secrets; It helped hide her.

You see, as far as Bryn could remember from History classes, Ptosi’s people, once got along with the Celestials. The whole world did, apparently. Proud, old dragonborn in the textbooks told of a time where the Angels were messengers for the celestial gods. They were the right hand to act upon the world where the Celestial Gods could no longer tread safely. People would even seek them out at their last moments- knowing that it energized and empowered the angels, all while providing safety, and a speedy passing, sending the soul and spirit of that person through the cycle.

The stories behind the angel’s reasoning are varied and lost however, and the stories of the war are even more lost to time than that, somehow.  
The basis they taught in school was that, for unknown reasons, the Angels turned on mankind and started herding and culling people to feed off their energy. Mankind rose up and answered the call to war- the war that never really ended.  
In hushed tones people today still talk about Angel sightings and people going missing. The Winged Blades still hunt and celebrate the hunt of the Angels. For each broken dagger a captain carries on his hip, an enemy had to have fallen, that's how it goes. 

Not that Bryn would have a particularly hard time bringing the Winged Blades’ legitimacy into question. While Angels are rumored to hide out in the world still today, and hunt people down in ways that are only explainable as Angels- the Winged Blades are surprisingly similar to their ex-masters-in-hiding. The Blades strike fear into the hearts of people they swore to protect by deeming all of the Celestials too dangerous. They teach that the reasoning is unknown but it is obvious by the outlawing of all Celestials, Celestial Religion, and Celestial imagery that the crown and its dutiful guard believe that the Gods turned on everyone. Such fears are only supported by the fact that all nine of the Gods haven’t spoken to anyone since just before the rise of the Angels. 

With the outlawing of all Celestials, the first thing they did was cull the celestial blooded. You won’t find that in a history book, but Bryn and all of the like-minded people who follow or know Celestial Religion know that at some point early in, they culled the Aasimar. Typically not believed to exist nowadays, the only reason Bryn knows for certain that Aasimar are out there, is because she is one. She learned the hard way from a young age exactly what that meant. 

In the now, the marketplace was a blur. On autopilot, Bryn went through the normal motions at the little, unmarked kiosk in the center of the market. “All of it is so lovely,” Bryn coo’d, deliberately passing her fingers over the cover with the coded glyph burned into the leather cover. “Have you heard of the blind bag trend?” She questioned. The shop keeper had a knowing glint in his eye, as he did every time Bryn or the others in the flock came around.  
“It just so happens…”

Bryn let herself slink back into memory.  
Being a child. That's what she was doing at the time, back then. It was the last real moment she could remember being a child. Not worrying, not hiding- just playing and enjoying life. Bryn didn’t even really notice the cut on her knee. She didn’t want to acknowledge it when her neighbor, Gale, was now winning their game. When her father noticed her scraped knee, however, that was when it all got put on her.  
It was serious, too, Bryn recalls. Her father scooped her up with such protective furocity that his grip left the faintest of bruises; she discovered those later that night during her bathing.  
“Listen to me, Bryn, this is important.” He gushed out as quickly as he could, “Never fall. Never bleed. For no one. _No one_ must see your blood, Bryn, do you hear me? It is the only way you can protect yourself. Do you understand? You must protect yourself.”  
Bryn blinked down at the glittery silver dripping from her wounds before facing her father. His face was red, and his eyes look wet. His voice was harsh and quick. Bryn wanted to cry, but something in her heart understood.   
If she wanted to follow Helm’s lead, she would protect herself.   
She would hide.   
She would never let them catch her.

“A steal at 20 gold pieces if you asked me.” The shopkeeper gave Bryn a wink. She blinked the memory away and returned to the moment here and now.  
“Sold.” She grinned, sliding the golden coins across the wooden counter and taking the paper wrapped package.  
As quickly as she could manage without being suspicious, the half-elf girl dipped around a corner into a dark alley and shoved the package into her bag. After slinging the backpack over her shoulder again, she slipped back out into the busy streets of the country’s capital. Most people would suggest that Bryn was a fool for moving to the capital, even more so considering how close she was to being caught only a year before.

The memories flooded into her again.  
Hot.   
Burning.   
Ash.   
Smoke.  
Even under the stonework and floorboards of her tiny home, she couldn’t breathe. Maybe it was the fires raging above, or the screams of her family and neighborhood, but her chest refused to allow breath in. 

That was the night that everything changed. Fear of the Winged Blades became pure, bubbling, hatred. Bryn became an orphan at the ripe age of 17- her birthday was only a few months away, she was supposed to receive her adult elven name then. That dream became a harsh, lonely reality; unfulfilled.  
A promise for protection became an Oath of Vengeance. 

Start from the beginning. It was a phrase that Bryn would often lash out at others for saying. As her legs carried her through the streets toward the docks and slummier parts of the capitol, she decided that if she had to pick a beginning, that was it. Nothing else mattered to her now.  
Her parents died that night, her life was destroyed, and her god silently acknowledged her oath- a little sign that they were still around. 

Sometimes, new beginnings start from the ashes.


	2. Meanwhile, Elsewhere...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A break from the world. Somewhere else, somewhere quiet and cold...

The cold clings as tightly as the man pulled his cloak to himself.

Winter in Ptosi was harsh, especially this far up north- even more so when the wind was whipping up off the oceans, over the cliffside.  
Powdery snow moved across the untouched blanket with the wind- further disturbed only by the lone man’s footfall. His steps were soft and light, only the whispers of the snow’s crunch echoing through the long forgotten stone buildings around him.

He set out a year ago, and here he was. The man hidden behind the dark navy cloaks and metal mask paused a moment to look up at the massive stone building and the surrounding ocean off the cliffside. Normal people were not permitted to enter the grounds of these sparsely known temple ruins. And even fewer knew of this temple in particular. A kind of joy swirled around his stomach and chest like the powdery snow in the wind around him.   
He finally found it.  
Stone against stone, the massive doors embellished with Celestial Glyphs opened to the man, breaking the chilling silence of the forests between Asprochaliko and The Blessed Isles. Though, no one was around for miles- besides the man- to hear it.  
The stone walls made the temple incredibly dark, but the shelter was appreciated. The man no longer clutch his cloaks to him as he peered around the room. It was simple- an alter on the far end, and a lot of open space. The lack of decoration just furthered the mans internal excitement. The temple he was seeking was almost completely cleared before it was vacated, as he had learned over the past year.

The descent into the shadows was long, and dark. The stairs were steep. At the bottom, mortal guests would risk injury with a drop into a room below. The man was aware of the drop and was prepared. With an echoing thump, he landed and weaved a bit of magic to pull light to his fingertips. The light spilled through the hallway and illuminated the walls. Paintings donned the smooth walls, leading the way into the main chamber of the temple.

The masked man took his time walking through the temple, looking over each painting. He took even longer unpacking. Reveling in the moment, he celebrated in silence- only able to think about how far he had come to finally find the Temple that was meant to house the King of Angels when all else had failed.

Though the masked man celebrated in silence, he didn’t hear the stonework above moving.

He did not hear anyone approaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but an important one. We will returning to our Heroine, Bryn, sometime this weekend.


	3. Not All That Glitters...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We continue our story with Bryn's trip to the market, and her daydreams take her a few places she wish they hadn't...

Continuing her journey through the dock-side streets of Dynam, the massive capital of the country, Bryn was lost in her memories. 

She doesn’t often let herself daydream without a purpose. Calculating and thorough, the young half-drow woman could play a plan out in her mind's eye at least a dozen ways before the average person realized they needed a plan. That kind of thing comes with the territory of being hunted for your race and religion. 

Maybe it's because she let herself daydream, or maybe it was a twist of fate. Either way, Bryn didn’t realize what was happening until it was in motion. A group of two young adult men- probably hired muscle down at the docks considering their attire and chosen location to relax and converse- were eyeing Bryn over their shoulder every few moments. 

When she finally noticed, and her internal alarm for danger was finally acknowledged, one of the pair dropped a handkerchief nonchalantly. A simple motion, but alarms went off in Bryns mind.   
The handkerchief just barely hit the ground when Bryn was starting to turn down an alley. Her sudden change of direction, instinctual reaction to her or anything on her persons being touched, along with her trained sense of danger- all of these things were factors that lead the cutpurse to graze Bryn’s hand due to her yanking away when he cut the strap of her coin purse.   
Bryn cursed and continued walking into the alley, giving no other indication of anything happening. Her dark cloak could only do so much to hide her silver, glittering wound.   
A map of the city came immediately to her mind's eye. Countless nights were spent learning the layout when she first moved in with Hera- a childhood friend who moved away before the raid- and she could find at least 12 ways home before the wound would have time to stop bleeding. She could cut her losses and make it home just fine. Giving herself mental inspiration, she swung back toward the market. 

The busier market streets swallowed Bryn into the sea of moving people. The sounds of the afternoon were then very suddenly, and very unfortunately for Bryn, interrupted with the sound of a scream. A young woman happen to see the glittery blood staining Bryn’s cloak, let out the yell, and promptly fainted. While the woman’s display distracted the other folk trying to get their errands done, the scream also attracted the local guard. 

Spinning around once more on her heels, Bryn elected to take another detor than come close to the guard with her current condition. She also elected to stay at a normal walking pace- better to be close than to be suspicious. 

It must have been quickly determined that the woman simply had a fainting spell, however, as Bryn could hear the guard behind her shortly thereafter. 

Turning down another alley and risking a suspicious glance over her shoulder, she watched as the guard took a very sudden interest in three young men. One of them was tossing and catching Bryn’s coin pouch smuggly.    
“Where did you get that?” The guard demanded.   
“Where is it your fucking business, mate?” The cutpurse snapped. It wasn’t wise to talk back to a guard, especially one of the capital. This young man seemed to have the privilege of not worrying about that.   
His friends, however, could tell the guard wasn’t just after a cutpurse. One of the two companions elbowed the cutpurse and pointed at Bryn.    
“It was that bloke’s.” He confessed in her direction.    
“Halt.” The guard barked after her.    
Bryn picked up the pace.    
“I said halt!” the Winged Blade yelled louder.   
And Bryn started to run. His tone told her he would kill her. But first, he would have to catch her.    
He would never catch her. 

She tore through Dynam’s streets, pushing and weaving through crowds as she went. She hooked a hard left, and traveled another block. She turned the corner and found herself in the middle of a thick crowd. The crowd gave more resistance than Bryn hoped for. They seemed to be occupied with a brawl happening at the center.    
As heavy armor clanged with heavy footfall behind, however, people in the crowd seemed to have a keen ear for guards.    
“BLADES!” A man from the crowd announced, and people began scattering.    
She couldn’t help but smile. It was easier now, she scattered with them.    
A few blocks later, a friendly flock member let Bryn pass through her home to enter the sewers from the gate on the other side. It was the fastest, most direct path home. Usually guard free, to boot. 

Gifted with darkvision, Bryn paused and allowed herself just a moment to adjust to the darkness in the sewers below the city of Dynam. She suddenly lost all color in her sight, but could see the plump, angry rat skittering through trash and Helm-knows-what in the middle of the path just a few feet ahead. The sewers were guard free, but that didn’t make them entirely safe.   
Still, people risked it. It was easier to get away from the world above by hiding in the sewers. The smell wasn’t great, but you wouldn’t get cut down during a sermon or bothered during your breaks. Many dock workers were already down here, judging by their echoing voices deeper in.   
Carefully skirting along the thin walkways, Bryn watched the plump rat bury its nose into something that looks like it might have once been a shoe. She had instinctively tucked a hand into her cloak and gripped her dagger tightly. The rat was massive in size, and the sewer rats were known for their aggression. It wasn’t a fight she was afraid of, per say. But the battle damage. She could easily fight them off. However, if one were to sink its teeth into her, she wouldn’t be able to get the bleeding under control without patching herself up- she was sure of it. She didn’t have access to the proper supplies down here and to get to them she would have to exit the sewers into broad day. Now that she thinks of it, she should bring down a small container of supplies for the off chance she would need it.   
A normal rat’s bite caused enough bleeding. 

Bryn pressed on, dancing around more of the rats’ range of aggression. She watched one bounce angrily down the path after a fly. Another darted out around a corner causing Bryn to halt- the only indication of its presence being a harsh squeak as it dove into more trash. 

Careful steps and a general sense of caution made the trip slightly longer, but injury could have made everything last all night. Bryn finally made it to her exit and pulled her thieves’ tools out of her bag. She slid the lockpick and pin into the lock and with months of muscle memory popped the gate.   
She climbed back into sunlight after a quick check to be sure no one was watching the sewer gate. She was less than two blocks away now. 

When she got home, Hera was already waiting for her in the kitchen. Clambering plates and the smell of seasoning filled the air. “How was the market?” Hera asked from out of sight.   
Bryn removed her bag and cloak and moved toward the door in the hallway, “It was fine. That smells delicious. Let me put the goods away, then I'll join you.”   
The basement was dark as well, Bryn relied on muscle memory more than her darkvision to count the steps away from the stairs. She took out her dagger and popped a brick out of place, before hiding the bag of religious goods inside. Before rejoining her childhood friend in the kitchen, Bryn was sure to slip off to the bathroom to clean her hand of any remaining blood.  
The kitchen was bright with Hera dancing around it, moving their dinner to the table.   
Hera was a tall, slightly tan woman with long red hair. Her hazel eyes danced between green and brown depending on the lighting, and almost always had a sparkle in them. Back in their home village of Prolefsi, Hera was occasionally tasked with watching after Bryn when they were younger. Hera moved away from Prolefsi a few years prior.   
Then the raid happened. The Winged Blades tore through Prolefsi like wildfire.   
Bryn doesn’t remember when she emerged from the floorboards. She doesn’t remember when she set out away from Prolefsi. What she does remember is feeling the boiling, tar-like rage in her stomach. It twisted and urged her to the capitol. It was hard for her to imagine going to the capitol and maintaining her rogue composure. The rage in her told her to go in metaphorical guns blazing. She could burst into the buildings housing the Blade’s at night and kill off a lot of them before being taken down.   
The days inbetween Prolefsi and Dynam helped remedy that. By the time she was on the outskirts of the capitol city, she had a better plan. She thought of a million different ways to take down the Winged Blades. Baby steps at first, she could pick a few off here or there when she got the chance, and she’d claw her way into taking out the higher ranking officials. Time and practice with her new found abilities would let her get closer to her goal of taking them down and destroying whoever was in charge of the raid on her village. 

It was her sworn oath of vengeance, sung under the rage of fire and flame dancing above her that night. 

Now, however, progress was slow. Bryn found herself in a steady, somewhat normal life. She was leading regular sermons and just surviving. Occasionally, delivery work even helped put some coin in her pocket while keeping her busy.    
Bryn smiled at Hera, she couldn’t have hoped for a better person to have taken her in. “I’m going to scope out the sewers for set tomorrow evening. I’ll transfer the supplies then and set everything up for the Sermon this weekend.”    
Hera informed her that it sounded like a sound idea. “Just don’t be up too late.” 

Thankful, Bryn went through the rest of her motions for the night.   
From under her shirt, she produced a small kitten that was hidden away. Ella gave a massive yawn and stretched her legs. It was a wonder that cat had functioning limbs at all. Though the extra padding at the chest gave Bryn an illusion that she could shape disguises with. The kitten trotted off toward the loft Bryn called her bedroom, leaving Bryn to the rest.    
She lit the candles and hung her golden gauntlet up above her bed- a nightly ritual that allowed Helm to keep a watchful eye on the home and keep them safe.    
As she drifted off into her dreams, Bryn swore she could hear the sound of giggling in the distance. 


	4. A Chain Reaction...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We jump back to the snowy cliff side mountains, southeast of Asprochaliko; Back to the masked man, who is suddenly caught off-guard by a silent ambush.

Sharp, harmonious, and many; the voices rang out in the dead silence of the temple.

The cloaked and masked man felt his heart leap, threatening to burst through. He spun tightly on his heels, raising his arcane focus- a small blue crystal- to ready at the person who dared to ambush him. How could he allow himself to be caught so foolishly off guard? 

The humanoid shape flinched backward at the man’s sudden maneuver. They too seemed alarmed and caught off guard. The masked man darted his eyes over the figure, taking in as many features his darkvision would allow. Wings caught his attention first. Massive, spread wings keeping the angel at a hover just off the ground. Their features were soft and feminine, but the figure had tone to their flat chest and body. A lack of breasts made the masked man assume they might be male presenting or non-binary when compared to mortal gender.  
The face, appearing like a carved statue, stared back, eyes forever closed. Furrowed brow revealed there to be a third eye, also closed on the figures forehead. Had the masked man viewed the angel in the light, he would also know that the angel was forever stained on the cheeks with tears and a large splat of red on the chested marked the angel, like that of a bleeding-heart dove.  
Chains dangled from the angels wrists, wrapped lightly around each of them. As they rung their hands, the shackles clinked together gently. They were broken on the ends, and another set dangled, wrapped around the angels ankles.  


It only took the masked man a few moments to look the angel over. Floored by realization, adrenaline ran through him like ice water. The angel leaned in closer, their voices picking up and ringing an ancient language off the stone walls.  
“Who are you?” They demanded quietly, some of their voices sounded ever so slightly braver than the rest.  
It was tricky, the mask man read more than spoke or listened to the forgotten language.  
“You’re an angel.” He said plainly to avoid the question. The masked man wasn’t sure yet if he should reveal his name, or any details. Capable magic or not, this was still an angel.  
The figure suddenly tilted they’re head in surprise at the mortal speaking its tongue. “And you’re in my home.” they replied. A moment of silence passed between them while the man tried to gather a sense of the angel’s character.  
The moment passed. The man decided that the angel wouldn’t take initiative here- they weren’t relaxing or backing down, but they didn’t try to attack just yet. Arcane focus ready or not, the masked man knew a typical, hostile angel would have jumped already. The man lowered the blue crystal and concealed it again. He turned back to the task of unpacking.  
“I am.” He said plainly.  
“You don’t know much celestial, do you?” The angel accused in the common language, floating around the man to get a better look at him unpacking.  
“To assume my intelligence when you’ve first just met me is one thing, to throw accusations of the lack of my intelligence is just insulting.” He’d like to believe he spoke the language perfectly, this time quicker- to snip back at the celestial. Though, he couldn’t deny it sounded much more beautiful with the angels’ voices. The man stopped as he put down another book, looking back at the angel through his metal mask. The angel looked slightly caught off guard again, but the man could see the yearning curiosity in the celestial creature.  


There was promise, after all.  


Excitement flooded him again, but he didn’t show it. It’d be easier this way.  
“My name is Fengari.” He pushed his things aside and gave his attention to the celestial.  
His plan was to give a little. Show some good faith, pull the angel in. He’d get the answers he sought. Anything after that would come later.  
“What is yours? Do you have a name?”

“Alysida.” The angel replied. His form started to shift. Like a million little particles flipping and spinning their image and appearance piece by piece from the top of the angel’s form- the angel took on a more mortal seeming appearance. Had Fengari not witnessed it happen, he would not have been able to find any flaws in the new appearance. Any flaws spotted without witnessing the change could be written off as part of the person’s appearance. Now the angel looked like a young elven male- possibly high elf- with long white hair and soft rounded features. Bright, almost golden cat-slit eyes blinked back at Fengari. He was strikingly gorgeous.  
Fengari narrowed his eyes behind his mask, making a point to turn his head toward the closest painting left in the temple. “You choose to look like him…” The curiosity gnawed at his insides. It demanded he not linger on the boring like this, but the natural flow of conversation had to occur. He didn’t want to scare the angel. 

Alysida was skittish, but curiosity burned inside him too hot. “Aren’t you afraid? Why are you here? How do you know how to speak celestial?” The questions started pouring out, he paused to allow Fengari time to answer. Fengari couldn’t help a chuckle. “Self taught.” He started with the last question. “I’m here for a personal quest. I think that is the simplest way to put it.”  
He turned back to his bag and pulled out a thick book. The red leather smelled of dust and the thick lock on its cover was unclasped, but looked like it hadn’t been touched in a long time. Fengari didn’t re-clasp it for the risk that he would not be able to get it off again.  
He opened the book to a page he had marked with a thin piece of ribbon and leaned toward the angel to show him.  
Fengari watched closely, for fear he would miss any clues on the angel’s face. Alysida’s eyes danced across the page- across the features of the angel depicted. Realization hit first. The book meant Fengari knew more than the average person.  
There was almost a flicker of fear then, perhaps. If any, it was probably due to the fact that Alysida did not know how much Fengari knew, making this a dangerous game if he was trying to keep any information a secret. 

Now, Fengari could satisfy a piece of his curiosity, so he bit. “Why are _you _here? The Winged Blades, the _original angel hunters_, are supposed to guard these temples…” Fengari let himself trail off. It was a dangerous place to call home.  
There was a moment of silence. The mortal looking angel withdrew- his eyes fell and trailed away to their surroundings. It seemed like the angel wasn’t going to share any information.  
“Alysida.” Fengari called the angels attention. Those bright eyes snapped back to the masked man. Very well, he thought. Fengari could be encouraging, he’d let his silver tongue do the dance to get what he wants. 

“Tell me about yourself. The curiosity is killing me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short chapter! Maybe I can get back to the swing of things now.


End file.
